


Shattered

by Sarah_Ellie



Category: James Bond (Movies), Sherlock (TV), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Coda, Crossover, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Reichenbach Falls, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-17
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-21 08:48:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/595797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarah_Ellie/pseuds/Sarah_Ellie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The months after Sherlock's suicide pass. Q and Mycroft mourn for their brother, John mourns for his lover, and Bond must try and find a way to keep everyone together well enough that their cracks don't show.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Glass Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> Un beta'd. Please forgive some minor errors!

“Your mobile is making that bloody awful sound again.” Bond complained from the sitting room. Q padded out from the kitchen, two beers balanced between the elegantly long fingers of his right hand, and picked up his phone from a side table. It was playing one of those popular television theme songs that his brother had liked so much, and had as a result programmed as the ringer for his boyfriend. 

“It’s John.” Q sighed, looking at the screen with uncertainty. “Sherlock must be up to something.” 

“I thought it was Mycroft’s job to call and bitch about your brother’s antics?” Bond asked, rising from the couch to take one of the beers from Q’s hand. 

“I guess he took the day off.” Q shrugged and put the phone down. “It’s not particularly something I want to deal with at the moment, anyway.” 

“My, how far we’ve come that you’ll even tell John to sod-off occasionally.” Bond joked, raising his beer in a mock toast. 

“Not answering a call is not the same thing.” Q laughed, but clicked glasses with Bond anyway. It had been a very long year of adjustment to Sherlock and John’s incessant phone calls, the former out of a complete lack of social boundaries, the latter out of frustration of having to deal with the former. 

Q had barely made it around the back of the sofa before his phone began to ring a second time. He sighed and went over to it, scooping the small piece of tech up into his hand and pressing it to his ear. 

“Hullo? John… John what’s wrong.” Q’s brow furrowed immediately, and his ran the thumb of his free hand over the lip of the beer bottle. Bond watched as Q’s pallor went from pale to sheet white, and the breath shot out of the Quartermaster like a punch. The beer bottle slipped from his hand and shattered across the floor. Q didn’t even seem to notice, despite his now soaked bare feet. 

“What’s happened?” Bond asked, rushing to Q’s side. He tried to keep Q still, but the clink of glass made it clear that Q was moving across the floor, blood mingling with beer as Bond fought to keep him from pacing the short distance from one side of the room to the other. 

“It’s Sherlock.” Q said, his voice a throaty whisper. “He’s dead. John’s here, on the phone. He saw it. The whole thing.”   
“Murder?” Bond asked, his mind immediately calculating the odds that whoever had had it out for Sherlock would have wanted the younger Holmes brother as well. 

“Suicide. John saw it. Said Sherlock gave him a note, or told him a note. I- I can’t…” Q stammered, and tears began to form in the corners of his eyes. The mobile was still in Q’s hand, glowing the timer of the call from John. Gently, Bond extricated the phone from Q’s hand and pressed it to his ear. 

“John?” 

“James? James is that you?” The voice was one of complete and utter defeat. Loss. Brokenness. 

“Yes, John. Where are you?” Bond asked. He started to sweep away the shards of glass with his shoe as he spoke, aware that Q was barely aware of the mess he had made of the soles of his feet. 

“I’m… I don’t know where I am.” John said, suddenly sounding very tired. “I couldn’t go back to Baker Street, James. I just…” Bond could hear the sobbing on the other side of the line, and he ran a hand through his short tufts of hair. 

“John, find the nearest intersection and give it to me.” Bond said. “I’m going to call you a car. Get into it; it will take you to my flat. Have you spoken to Mycroft?” 

“Yes. Okay. Yes.” John stuttered. He read out the street names and promised Bond that he wouldn’t leave the corner. Bond put the call on speaker phone and made John promise to stay on the line while he took his own cell phone out of his pocket and called headquarters for a car. 

Within fifteen minutes, John had been picked up. Bond had pulled a chair over for Q to sit on, hard-backed and sturdy, so that Bond could examine the cuts and glass in Q’s feet. He patched his Quartermaster up as well as he could given the small amount of peroxide and band-aids that they had left. Then, he made Q sit still with a finger of scotch in a tumbler while Bond cleared up the broken glass and mopped up the rest of the mess. Q didn’t say anything while Bond worked; he merely downed one glass of scotch and then refilled the tumbler with more. He had drained three significant glasses before Bond took the bottle and set it out of Q’s reach. 

“Q- look at me.” There were tears falling down Q’s angular cheeks. Bond wiped them away gently, and placed a soft kiss on Q’s forehead. 

“Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable.” Bond said decisively, pulling Q up by the arms and steering him carefully towards the couch. He had just settled Q down when the doorbell rang, and John stepped into the flat. 

It occurred to Bond that he had never been very good at sympathy. After all, his job was filled with the dead and dying, and sympathy could very well lead to your own death. So having John come to his flat, visibly wrecked with his boyfriend’s death suddenly struck Bond as a very stupid idea. But there was very little that could be done for the army doctor, and if nothing else Bond believed in damage control. 

“John, I’m so sorry.” Bond said, grasping John’s hand and his opposite shoulder tightly. John murmured a thanks and allowed himself to be led to the couch, where Bond was able to see a small bit of blood on the back of John’s head and the far more noticeable limp in his step. 

“Darcy.” John nodded to Q, who looked taken aback by the mention of his first name. Q’s face crumpled, and the tears began anew, this batch more vocal and devastated than the first. John joined in immediately after, and Bond found himself standing before his boyfriend and his newly-widowed-almost-brother-in-law, realizing that a delicate world had just shattered and he had no idea how to begin sweeping up the mess.


	2. Faded Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-Beta'd

The plan was that Bond would get up in the morning while Q and John were still sleeping, put on the water for tea, and make the dreaded call to Mycroft to see what the next steps would be. Bond figured that Mycroft would have a handle on most of the arrangements, but it would be easier on everyone if they reached out proactively to the slightly eccentric eldest Holmes. 

It was a shock to Bond, to realize that Sherlock was dead. In the last year of his co-existence with the peculiar man, Bond had found him more of a source of frustration than affection, but he had to admit that eventually, the man had grown on him. Shockingly, it was after Sherlock declared that he knew that Bond was a 00 agent that made them closer; Sherlock had experience in Bond’s world, and understood the risks. That understanding meant that Bond’s relationship with Q took on an entirely different level; they both understood that for however hard a person had to work in the “field,” they had to work twice as hard for the ones that they loved. 

Regardless of this, though, Bond felt that it was enough to know that Q had loved his brother, had worried and cared for Sherlock with as much dedication as Mycroft, but with the benefit of maintaining a relationship with him instead of animosity. 

The addition of John Watson made an already difficult situation all the more precarious, because Bond, while tolerant of Sherlock, had found true friendship with the army doctor. To see John and Q both dealing with such a gaping loss, and to know that it was a suicide, driven by a moment of clear insanity and internal strife, left more questions in how to handle the proceedings than answers. 

Bond muddled through his thoughts as he carefully got out of bed so as to not wake Q, and checked to make sure that John was still asleep. Before making tea, Bond decided to get the newspaper from the front stoop. 

The plans Bond had made for the morning fell through the moment that Bond saw the headline on the front page of the paper. Q had been getting the newspaper delivered to Bond’s flat for a few months, which had struck Bond as entertainingly archaic for the computer programmer, but he didn’t say anything about it. Now, Bond wished that he had, because a mocking jibe against Sherlock, who was being depicted as a suicidal maniac who was revealed to have been perceived as a high-caliber detective who had made a dark descent to a homicidal monster. A photograph of Sherlock’s crumpled body was included after the front-page jump, and Mycroft was mentioned in the article along with John. 

Bond’s hands clenched around the newsprint and he tore through the house to the rubbish bins out the back door. He buried the paper under the previous day’s garbage and returned to the kitchen to wash his hands and start the kettle. 

The kettle was just beginning to warm when Q stumbled into the room. He looked disheveled in the clothes that he had been wearing the day before, and his eyes were bleary and red. Bond noticed the slight limp when Q put pressure on the soles of his feet. Bond pulled out a chair for him and the Quartermaster crumpled into it, rubbing at his eyes. 

“Thanks.” He sighed when Bond placed a mug of Earl Grey in front of him. Bond pulled a chair around next to him. 

“Is John still asleep?” Q asked. He set the mug down and glanced at Bond, who nodded in ascent. 

“Right then. Probably best to get in touch with Mrs. Hudson. 221 B is bound to turn up a reporter or two. I don’t want to ask John to do it…”

“I can go over there.” Bond offered, thinking about the article in the rubbish bins outside. “I can pick up some of John’s things and make sure that Mrs. Hudson is getting on okay.” 

“You don’t have to.” Q argued, but it was weak. They both knew that he didn’t want to face the collection of oddities that Sherlock had collected. 

“It’s fine.” Bond insisted. 

“In that case, I suppose it’s time I got in touch with Mycroft.” 

“Mycroft still hasn’t called?” John appeared in the doorway, looking like absolute hell. “Why hasn’t he called?”

“I can call Mycroft, Darcy.” Bond said quickly. He stumbled over Q’s given name, but was more than aware that while Sherlock had known exactly what Q’s job was, John could very well still be in the dark. They could pull off Q as a pet name occasionally, but there was a time and place. 

“No James, its fine.” Q said. “John, James was going to go to 221B in a bit to see Mrs. Hudson. Is there anything that you’d like for him to pick up, while he was there?”

“Thank you, James.” John said, taking a seat. “But I should probably go myself. I’ll need to gather enough to set myself up in a hotel for a few days. I just can’t sleep… right. Well, anyway… I can go.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, John.” Bond said, setting a jar of sugar and a small carton of crème on the table. “We’re clearing out the spare room here. Movers are bringing some furniture out of storage this afternoon so that you can be all set up by this evening.”

Q looked up at Bond as he spoke, a mixture of surprise and relief on his face. Bond hadn’t discussed this offer with him, but he had hoped that Q would be okay with it. It was, after all, what Sherlock had once assured Bond that he and John would do for Q, should the worst happen. 

“No, don’t go through the trouble. Besides, if I leave Baker Street, Mrs. Hudson won’t be able to pay the bills. She never did get that third flat rented out.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Bond said. “I’ll settle everything with her this afternoon.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments deeply appreciated!


End file.
